Chapter Text
This wasn’t the first time Draco had been subjected to his dad's pre-term rant, and it wouldn't be the last.
“And if I hear one more word of an excuse about that Potter boy,” His dad hisses, hands clamping down on Draco's skinny shoulders. “I’ll make sure it’s the last word you speak for a long time.” He shoves Draco away, the back of his head cracking loudly on the brick walls.
Draco grits his teeth, the blow sending waves of pain through his skull. “Yes.”
Lucius turns to face his son. “Yes what, Draco?”
“Yes, Father.”
Satisfied, Lucius strides past his son's shivering form and into the next room, his shoes clicking on the marble floor. Draco stands still for a moment, before hurrying up the stairs, the simpering consolations of his mother echoing behind him.
Sinking onto his thin mattress, Draco runs his hands through his thick blond hair. As far as interactions with his father go, this wasn’t the worst. Was it the best? Also no. It was his 6th year at Hogwarts and his dad's 6th bitter rant. Lucius had graduated top of his class, giving Slytherin their closest chance at a house cup since Dumbledore had become headmaster in 1945. Of course, Gryffindor somehow got 200 extra house points the night before the ceremony, stealing what Lucius had worked for since his first year. To this day, Lucius swears that James Potter is the man who stole his house cup, and as soon as he realized Draco would be attending the school with James’s son, it was already fixed in his head that this would be his chance at redemption. Five disappointing years later, Draco was still an average student with average house points.
It wasn’t like it was Draco’s fault. He was in almost twice the amount of classes as his peers, and his place as the Slytherin team seeker was always in jeopardy. He can admit he probably spent too much time attending to his social life. His friend group was always expanding, and though they were more like fans than real friends, it was still a lot to handle.
Laying back on his bed, he hears the distinct crinkle of paper. Sitting up, he grabs for the letter, the familiar blue scrawl immediately recognizable. Ripping the envelope open, he begins to read.
“Our dearest Draky,” He rolls his eyes, the childish nickname embarrassing him even now, 6 years later. “We know you miss us, and that’s why you haven't been writing back. It’s ok! Nothing to be ashamed of. You’ll just have to get in line behind the entire female student body if you want a chance. Anyways, we thought we should do something different this year. Fred won’t let me tell you our master plan, but I will warn you to not get too comfortable in your dorm ;). Ron is banging his way toward our room now, and he can’t catch us writing to a snake like you, so this is the end. See you after the sorting tomorrow! I’ll slip you the meeting room at the feast. Later, George Weasley!”
Draco smiles down at the paper, noticing how the exclamation point at the end of the letter trails down the paper. Ron must’ve run in. Draco pretends not to notice how secretive the twins are about their friendship, but he can’t help but feel hurt when they flick rocks at him and his peers during trips to Hogsmead, their jeering friends goading them on. He knows it's unusual, their friendship. The two biggest troublemakers in the entire school and the most hated Slytherin since you-know-who came to power? It's no wonder the twins want to keep it a secret.
Draco is snapped out of his reverie by a sudden knock on his door. Jumping up, Draco shoves the letter under his bed and walks quietly to the door. Opening it a crack, he looks up at the face of his father. Shoving the door open, Lucius strides into the small room, forcing Draco to back up until he’s sitting back in his bed. He watches nervously as Lucius scans the room, his eyes snagging on the scattered books and dirty dishes spread across the floor.
“If you would just behave better we could move you out of this dirty little room,” Lucius said, his innocent smile setting Draco on edge. “Maybe you could even go back to having windows.”
Draco looks at the floor, his hands clenching and unclenching as he stares at the moldy carpet. “I’ll try my hardest father, for you.” Draco looks up with a smile, trying to will himself to behave.
His father tsks disapprovingly, and in a movement too fast for Draco to react, he jabs his cane into the boy's ribs, the heavy metal snake head digging into his skin. “Don’t look at me like that, brat. It’s not my fault you can’t abide by my expectations.” He draws the cane back to his side, grabbing Draco's chin and forcing him to look up into his eyes. “This year, you will do better.” Releasing his chin, Lucius begins to pace. “I’ve talked to Professor Snape. Obviously, your higher class loads are not giving you the opportunities you need to earn house points, so we’ve decided to change your role. Instead of classes, I’m putting the focus on your quidditch career. Winning games will get you more house points than your mediocre academics ever would.” Draco watches as his father's pacing feet come to a stop right before his face. He feels his father's cold hand stroking his hair. “I just want the best for my son,” He says soothingly. “Is that such a horrible thing?” He turns and walks out of the dark little room. Draco doesn’t see him leave, his gaze still planted firmly on the ground. “Come down for dinner once you’ve composed yourself,” His father calls from outside the door. “Your mother wants to dine with you before you leave tomorrow.”